


How To (Not) Calm Down Your Boyfriend: A Guide by Dexter Grif

by mechanicalUniverses



Series: Domestic Grimmons Adventures [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Canon-typical language, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Swearing, Tickle-fights, non-canon, prompts, seriously can someone tell me how to tag stuff )), simmons is mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalUniverses/pseuds/mechanicalUniverses
Summary: Simmons is mad at Grif. That's the short story.





	How To (Not) Calm Down Your Boyfriend: A Guide by Dexter Grif

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: 'Don't start a tickle war when I'm supposed to be mad at you!'

Simmons was mad at Grif. That's the short story.

The long story was that Simmons would come home each day and find a sock in the cabinet, the sink still overflowing with dirty dishes, the bathroom lights left on when no one was in there, empty cans and candy wrappers thrown all over the place like confetti, unwashed underwear tossed on the table, which made Simmons gag, shirts and pants dropped and left wherever that lazy fuck damn well pleased to drop them, and, worst of all, the sink would be dripping! Who the fuck turns the faucet _just_ enough to drip until someone has to get up and turn it off!

 _Dexter Grif,_ he thinks bitterly, that was who.

Every day when he got back, Grif either was still at his own job down at the garage, or he was asleep on the couch. So _Simmons_ would be the one to do a bit of light cleaning, mostly picking up the wrappers and cleaning dishes, only to come back to the same mess within a couple of days.

And Simmons was getting _really_ fucking sick of it.

" _Grif!_ " he hollers down the hall. There's a groan and a heavy sounding _thump_.

"Wha'?" comes the sleepy reply.

"Did you do the dishes?" God, he hates the angry mom tone he has but honestly, he couldn't care less right now. He's already had a terrible day at work, ranging from bitchy clients to a printer wigging out and spreading ink all over an important document he had spent an hour tediously filling out, so screw it! He's going to be angry! And if he sounds like a disappointed parent, so be it!

"Nah."

"The laundry?"

"Nope."

"Please tell me you at _least_ picked up your trash."

"O for three, Simmons." The fucker sounds _proud_.

"You know what? You wanna fucking drown in garbage? Fine! _Fine!_ " Simmons steps out of his shoes and kicks them off to the side. Then he stomps into the kitchen and drops his heavy bag on the counter. "You're cooking tonight, l'm going to bed!"

"Ugh, why me?" Grif shuffles in, hands shoved deep into his hoodies pocket and yawning. "I did it last week! Also it's like, seven, why the fuck are you going to bed—" He stops and eyes Simmons up and down before raising his brow. "What's up with _you?_ "

"It was two weeks ago, and because I'm fucking tired, and I don't want to come back to a literal landfill of a house just _once_ before I die!" And with that, Simmons spins on his heel and stalks back to their bedroom, making sure to slam the door as hard as he can.

"Yeesh," he faintly hears Grif say.

Simmons strips down to his underwear and throws his clothes into the laundry basket. Then he flings his body on to the bed and he wraps himself in as many blankets as he can grab. He snatches up his pillow to bury his face in, resisting the urge to scream. His face is hot, and of course he's crying a little bit, because Simmons just _had_ to have the luck to be the type to cry when he was frustrated.

He fails to resist the urge to scream.

Fuck this.

Maybe he wouldn't be so mad if there was an actually decent reason as to why Grif refused to do something as meager as cleaning up after himself. A reason that wasn't, 'I don't want to', or some spun out story about work, or bringing up a bullshit favor from ten years ago.

Simmons frowns. Was it possible it was a side effect of his OCD medication? Wait, was that even a possible side effect? To lose motivation to complete any tasks outside of basic needs? Grif never really talked to him about it, even when they both went over any requirements they had early on in the start of their relationship. Then again, that had been years and years ago. Maybe the dosages or medicine have changed, and Simmons just hasn't noticed any differences.

Simmons was going to feel like a real ass for each time he'd called Grif lazy if that was the case.

But what if that wasn't the case, he just really _was_ that fucking lazy? That seemed like a very Grif move. So did not telling him not telling Simmons about his medications.

Perhaps a check-in with him was due.

"Tomorrow," he mutters to himself. "I'll ask tomorrow." It's going to be tomorrow because right now, he wants to sleep until he cools off. It was Saturday anyways, which meant he stayed home alone until Grif came back from the garage at around noon, so he had a few extra hours. Simmons rolls over with a huff and closes his aching eyes.

He's not exactly sure how much time has passed when he suddenly blinks awake to a knock on the door. Weird. Grif never knocks.

"Uh... Hey?"

Simmons scowls.

"Whoa, did you actually fall asleep? What the hell?"

Simmons does not respond.

"Anyways, I made some skewers, just um. Y'know, the veggie ones with that weird chinchilla sauce or whatever it was. Chimichanga? Chimichurri?" A pause. Possibly Grif checking his phone. "Yeah, chimichurri sauce."

Why was Grif still talking to him if he was supposedly asleep?

"Fuck, uh, and some quinoa? Which is fucking gross, I don't get why you like it so much, it's just like, warm mush, but that's there too."

Simmons' stomach growls unhelpfully. Grif was good at cooking, and he knew whatever he put together was going to be delicious, but he knew this trick. Making his favorite foods was something he did to get Simmons to do his bidding. He couldn't afford to be tempted.

"Seriously, open up, dipshit." A pause, and then a deep, long-suffering sigh. "Um. You have a nice smile?"

Simmons snorts, clapping his hands over his mouth a second too late.

"Hah! I knew it!" The door flies open, and Simmons turns over as fast as he can. "l know for a _fact_ you can't resist quinoa. Get up and eat it, or it's gonna get cold."

That layer of bitterness settles over his amusement. Right. The guilt ploys. "Fuck off."

"Really?" Grif asks dryly. Simmons feels the mattress dip as Grif sits down and leans over to kiss him on the side of his head. "C'mon," he coaxes, "l put all the stuff in the same order. Does that do it for ya? Huh?" He moves to just underneath the back of his ear, lips brushing just barely against Simmons' skin. He has to fight to keep his heavy frown. "What if I put it in _rainbow_ order? Mmm, color coded stuff. Sounds hot."

Simmons huffs, rolls over, and curls into a tighter ball.

Grif groans, "God dammit," and leaves, not bothering to turn off the lights. Great. Simmons shoves his face back into his pillow, taking Grif's pillow too because he can, and also, fuck that guy.

Needless to say, he's a bit surprised when he hears the floorboards creak, signaling Grif's return a few minutes later.

"What do you want?" he rasps lowly, already closing his eyes again. Grif doesn't answer. Instead, Simmons feels a sudden jab at the side of his ribs.

"Ow! Hey!" he yelps. He turns his head to glare blearily at Grif. "Dude, fuck you!"

"It's my last resort," Grif says grimly, but Simmons can just make out his shit-eating grin. Simmons tries to flip over to put his back to Grif, but he catches him and pulls him back to start poking at his stomach through the blanket.

"Oh, that is _so_ unfair!" Simmons gasps as Grif pulls the covers back from his head and ghosts his fingers on one hand down his neck, the other still tickling his belly. "You can't initiate a tickle fight when l'm supposed to be mad at you!"

"Says who?" Grif leans down and rubs his whiskers underneath Simmons' jaw, startling a laugh out of him. He tries to wriggle away, but it turns out the cocoon he's created fo himself is his downfall because he can't free his arms to defend himself. He can't even curl knees over his chest! This was totally unfair!

The blankets eventually unravel themselves after five ruthless minutes of Grif tickling Simmons, refusing to let up until he's laughed himself breathless, all shaking shoulders and little hiccups. Even then, Grif tugs him closer with a grin and blows raspberries up and down his throat, scratching him lightly with his scruff, all the while prodding him in the stomach and ribs. Simmons' laughter turns into the ugly snorts he hates. His last bit of frustration melts away like cotton candy in water when Grif's face lights up gleefully.

After what Simmons thinks is an eternity, Grif sits back with a satisfied smile. Simmons pushes himself upright, wiping tears from his eyes, occasional giggles bubbling past his lips. He can't hide his red face, or his smile, so he just ducks his head away.

"Well? You gonna talk now?"

"Fuck you," Simmons says with a laugh. "I'm still mad." It wasn't actual anger as much as it was forced, like he had to stay angry just to prove himself right. But even that was fading away rapidly.

"Uh-huh." Grif raises his hands. Simmons shrieks and scoots away as fast as he can. He falls off the bed for his efforts.

"Ugh!"

Grif chuckles amusedly. He leans over the side with a smirk, making no effort to help Simmons clamber up from the crack between the wall and the bed. Simmons glares at him as he goes and sits on the opposite edge of the mattress.

"So. Why've you got a cactus shoved up your ass?"

Simmons tries to frown at him, but his lips won't turn down, so it turns into a weird grimace of sorts. "I'm just tired. Usual stuff."

"Don't give me that shit, Simmons, you run on pure spite and coffee every damn day and _now_ you're losing your shit? What gives?"

Simmons winces. "Just... Long day. Shitty people. Like I said, usual stuff."

He can almost feel Grif's frown radiating from him. "You were super pissed like two hours ago—" _It's been two hours?_  "—and now you're gonna turn around with that 'it's nothing' crap? C'mon, dude, I know you better than that. Gimme a little credit."

So Simmons sighs heavily and tells him. Grif keeps on surprising Simmons today because he only interrupts a few times to make a sarcastic quip. When Simmons finishes, he holds his breath, expecting a derisive snort or a noise of disbelief.

"Huh," Grif finally says after a heavy pause.

Simmons sighs and flops back on the bed. "Yeah."

"So this is basically just a bad bitchfit. Damn you for making me make those skewers."

Simmons rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't have had to make them if you had just, oh, I don't know, _cleaned up?_ "

"I dunno. Sounds like a scheme to have to do stuff. Eugh."

"Productivity. Disgusting," Simmons says sarcastically. Something stirs in the back of his mind at the words and he shoots upright with a gasp. "Shit! I still need to— Fuuucking _crap_ — Where is it?"

"I'm gonna need a full sentence in actually English, Simmons," Grif grunts as he heaves himself up from the bed.

"My bag, I need to finish some shit, it's important, I gotta do it," Simmons rattles off. He leaps up from the bed, only to have Grif push him back down. His face instantly turns red. "Wh— What are you—?"

"Calm down, horndog," Grif says with an eye roll. "You're gonna go the fuck to sleep right now. Like, right now." He reaches down and tosses the blankets across Simmons. Then he crosses the room in a few quick strides. "I hid your bag anyways, good luck finding that tomorrow."

Simmons' head snaps up. "If you put it in the toilet again, I swear to God—" 

"G'night!" Grif tosses over his shoulder before he flicks the lights off and the door clicks shut.

"Wait!" Simmons calls. "Did you actually—"

"That doesn't sound like snoring!" Grif shouts back.

" _Grif—!_ "

"Whoops, sorry Simmons, I can't _hear you!_ You are _asleep!_ "

"Ugh, you're so immature!"

 

* * *

 

Grif gives himself ten minutes before he comes back and puts his ear to the door. There's silence for a beat before he hears a loud snore. Grif does a fist pump of victory. Simmons being asleep before him was rare; he was always up late finishing work because he was a stubborn brown-nose who couldn't take 'later' for an answer. As a bonus, Grif could take a peek at Simmons for a moment. He had the cutest sleeping face ever; brow furrowed slightly like he was solving a slightly complicated math problem in his sleep, nose scrunched up, and his lips set in a permanent pout. And _he_ was the one who snored, which he always denied no matter what Grif did to prove it to him. Hilariously adorable.

The one con is that Simmons is still hogging all the blankets and his pillow. That piece of shit. Grif rolls his eyes, and goes back to the kitchen to put the plate of skewers in the fridge. He eyes the unfinished dishes warily as he shuts the door.

"Tomorrow," he tells himself, and he turns out the light.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i got the prompt from [this](https://prompt-bank.tumblr.com/post/162418073103/cute-one-line-otp-prompts) post if you want to check it out.
> 
> if you wanna come chat, here is my [tumblr!](http://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/)
> 
> p.s. i headcanon these two as the pettiest couple to exist. ever. feel free to extend that however far you want, but if you can name it, one of them's probably done it.


End file.
